
Class 

Book 

CopyrigM^^^- 



CQEZRIGHT DEPOSm 



f 



¥W^ 



Cbougbts from 
Oregon 

'Co Greet a friend 

By 
Kathleen IMacJ^eal Durbam 

DccomtCons \>y 
eetcUe Wallace pane 



'}' 



%% 



% 



Portland, Oregon 
1916 






i^-> '^'\^::'^ <P^~^ ' 



00^ 






n 






Copyright, 1916 
KATHLEEN MACNEAL DURHAM 



1 



Or 




F. W. BALTES AND COMPANY, PRINTERS 
PORTLAND, OREGON 



^ 



•SEP 21 1916 

^CI,A4377?8 



r 



HERE are heights of glory we all may reach, 

And bask for awhile therein ; 
There are lessons of patience that Life must 
teach 
Through pain, ere our goal we win. 
But the joys we have grasped will seem far 
more great. 
The pleasures much more rare. 
And the pain and sorrow by half abate, "^^^ Q 

With a faithful friend to share. 




't...^^ 



Contents page 

Appreciation 21 

At Fifty 40 

Child and a Rose, A 38 

Could Life's Night and Morning Meet . 34 

Cry of the Widowed, The 24 

Dear Lord, Teach Us 45 

Fruition 27 

Fruits of War, The . 50 

Hast Ever Been to Oregon? 14 

Her Neighbor 47 

If 20 

In the Gloaming 58 

John Stevens' Choice 18 

Let Us Give Thanks 41 

Life's Rose Cycle 30 

My Friend 29 

My Little Old Home on the Island . . 32 

Newsboys' Christmas Eve, The .... 42 



''A^. 







CONTENTS— Continued Page 

Night and Morn 52 

Now Use It 54 

One Woman's Plaint 46 

Oregon Grape, The 28 

Oregon's Hymn of Praise 13 

Parted 26 

Pie I Didn't Get, The 48 

Rose Brigade, The 39 

Smile 25 

Some Live Wire 36 

That's the Way I Long for You .... 57 

Time and Tide 16 

Viewpoint, The 56 

Whole World Knows the Portland Rose, 

The 22 




^-^■■ 



w^ 



thoughts from Oregon 

Co 6rcet a friend 



W! 



// 









v^ r^ 




OREGON'S HYMN OF PRAISE 

For our state and all its plenty, 

For its soil, its mines, its trees. 
For its rivers, flowing swiftly 

Outward to the Western seas; 
For the grandeur of its mountains 

Where, in faith, our souls have trod ; 
For the beauty of its valleys, 

We thank Thee, O, our God! 

For the glory of its sunsets, c^" 

On its many mountain tops ; ^ , 

For the patter of its raindrops, ' 

Auguring its bounteous crops ; 
For its vast, uncultured acres, 

Where sweet roses bloom and nod, 
Future homes of countless thousands — 

We thank Thee, O, our God ! 



•-V. 



!■■{ 




'2 ^ -^^-^-^^j .-^— _. 




HAST EVER BEEN TO OREGON? 
[With Acknowledgments to Fields] 

Hast ever been to Oregon, where rolls the 

bright Willamette down, 
And Nature, with a lavish hand, has beautified 

old Portland town? 
Where snow-capped mountains rise and glint 

like diamonds in the setting sun, 
And Heaven dons a deeper tint of azure round 

the tallest one? 



Where verdure grows a brighter green than 

any you have seen before, 
And roses wear a fairer sheen than roses you 
^ K have known of yore? 

Where vale and hillside vie in turn to capture 

your enraptured gaze. 
And bird and insect, flower and fern, elicit 

terms of warmest praise? 




[14 



Where giant trees *most reach the sky, their 

tops as large as normal trees, 
And mammoth logs 'twixt boom-sticks lie, for 

rafting to the Western seas? 
Where virgin mines, still unexplored, are 

waiting for the magic wand, 
And many is the "silver horde" of salmon in • 

our rivers spawned? v; ^ 



And these are not mere fairy tales, related for 

a pleasant hour, 
Before the real, the picture pales, as bud but 

shadows forth the flower. 
If you have never seen our state, you'll find it 

all that I have told you. 
And, when you shall participate, its wonders /TO 

rare will charm and hold you. fj 



k 

ill 



IS] 




TIME AND TIDE 




I stood on the beach in the morning, 

The tide was at its ebb, 
And the sand was covered with debris. 

And weeds of an intricate web. 
The rocks stood barren and rugged, 

The snags were barren and white. 
All looked hopelessly sordid. 

In the pitiless morning light. 

I thought of our life in its morning, 

And the many mistakes we make. 
Ere we learn to weave its pattern 

With a sort of give and take. 
And Life's sands are strewn with debris 

Of things we have started wrong. 
And we're frightened at the discord 

In the singing of our song. 



I stood on the beach at noontime. 

The tide was at its flow. 
And the waves were singing a love song. 

With a murmur soft and low. 
There was no sign of debris 

Now, on the white, white sand. 
Only the beautiful ocean. 

And the still more beautiful land. 



jaQt^ 



[I 



I thought of our life at its noontide, 

When we've grasped some truth at last, 
And we're learning to rise in the present, 

Through our mistakes of the past ; 
And Love has softened the errors. 

And Hope has given a hand. 
Through faith we have walked the waters, 

Till we're almost in sight of the land. 

I stood on the beach at sunset. 

A wonderful, roseate light 
Shone on the waters' surface. 

Its glory blinded me quite. 
And I could see in my fancy 

The gates to heaven ajar. 
As Night sent forth her herald, 

The soft, bright, evening star. 

Then I thought of life at its sunset. 

At the end of the strenuous fight. 
When man's heart is filled with charity. 

Ere the coming of the night. 
The night that must come so surely. 

But through which a dawn shall loom 
Tb point our way securely 

To the port beyond the tomb. 



'4 



17] 




fl 



/;; 

Ml 



i 



JOHN STEVENS' CHOICE 

They were sitting on the porch of their modest 

bungalow, 
John Stevens and his bonny bride of just a 

week or so. 
His work was done, and Stevens, his heart and 

pipe aglow. 
Was glad to sit and listen to the pretty ebb 

and flow 
Of the bright conceits and fancies of her so 

pure and sweet, 
That, search the wide world over, he knew you 

could not beat. 

"Reading up on Grecian lore for our little club 

today, 
I came upon a fancy, John, that pleased me 

mightily. 
'Twas said the sweet forget-me-nots, the 

fragrant violets, too. 
Were ordered made of patches from out of 

Heaven's own blue. 
And, wherever a piece was taken, a new star 

would appear, 
'Twas Heaven's glory shining through, to give 

us mortals cheer." 



[i8 



"It is a pretty fancy, Kate. With your author 

I agree. 
More, there's a pair of laughing eyes that are 

very dear to me. 
I KNOW that they were fashioned out of 

Heaven's own blue, 

"And, brighter than the brightest star, is the 

lovelight shining through. 
I would rather have their welcome, dear, than 

all the kingly power 
Of all the gods Olympian, set forth in Grecian 

lore ; 
And, rather than the throne of him, their great 

and mighty Jove, 
I'll take my chance of happiness with the little 

girl I love." 



\\ '*, 






t//'' 



19] 



'% 



gjffe^^^^ 







IF? 

If we planned, and, planning, labored 

To help others on their way ; 
If we sang, and, singing, lessened 

Frets and worries of the day ; 
If we did, and, doing, lifted 

Just a shadow from a friend ; 
Would not we, and others also, 

Happier be when day should end? 

If we knew, and, knowing, followed 

Rules of kindness, paths of love ; 
If we hoped, and, hoping, trusted 

In the words of Him above ; 
If we thought, and, thinking, quoted 

Only good of those we know ; 
Would not we, and others also, 

Have a heaven here below? 




[ 20 



■<:^%^ 



APPRECIATION 

We've censured, criticised, and blamed; 
We've said: "His working days are o'er; 
He's way behind the times," we've claimed; 
"The plans he makes are new no more." 
Perhaps, — but still 

When in his prime, he did his best. 
No work too hard ; he knew no rest. 
In methods, plans, he blazed the trail, 
He never knew the sound of Fail, 
And now, he's ill. 

He's lying low, his eye is dim; 
No more the fight and fray for him. 
Send him a rose, a line or two ; 
Give him his praise where praise is due. 
He's climbed the hill. 

He's made mistakes, some small, some grave. 
But to his work, his life he gave ; 
Oh, wait not till he's gone to tell 
He did his work, and did it well. 
And now, he's ill. 



" ^ ^i~=^. ^^ 



■y 





"THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS THE 
PORTLAND ROSE" 

"The whole world knows the Portland rose." 

I read it on the liner. 
And, instantly, it brings to me, 
Instead of endless sky and sea. 
Instead of briny, choppy foam, 
A vision of my Portland home. 

]^ "The whole world knows the Portland rose." 

, \ I read it on the diner. 

And, while I gaze on sleet and snow, 

My heart grows warm because I know, 

Instead of this, I soon shall see 

The land of roses, dear to me. 






"The whole world knows the Portland rose. 
^ The German soldier sobs it. 

I "Before a cottage, boys, it grows, 

j" Where wife must hope although she knows 

/ That many here will meet their doom, 

Whose hearts are where the roses bloom." 



^ 



'M 



[ 22 



"The whole world knows the Portland rose.' 

The mother softly croons it. 
Her lot is cast on English shores, 
Her eyes are fixed on English flowers, 
But to the babe upon her breast. 
She sings the flower she loves the best. 



I 



"The whole world knov^s the Portland rose." 

In Egypt's land he sighs it. 
His lease of life is almost gone ; 
No more his eyes will gaze upon 
The only flower his heart now knows, — 
The queen of flowers, the Portland rose. 

"The whole world knows the Portland rose." 

For in our hearts it blooms and grows. 

The bride upon a foreign shore. 

The soldier where the bullets pour. 

The child whose life has just begun. 

The man whose race is nearly run, — 

"The whole world knows the Portland rose." 

For in our hearts it blooms and grows. 









m.- 



23] 



S^^T-^ 





VC?' 



THE CRY OF THE WIDOWED 

Dear Lord, we try to bear the cross, 

To say, "Thy will be done" ; 
To feel Thou dost the best for us, 

From dawn till set of sun. 
But, while we see our fields run red 

With blood of those held dear. 
And, while our children cry for bread, 

'Tis hard to feel Thee near. 

We try to pray, "Thou knowest, O God! 

Thou dost the right alway, 
Oh, let Thy servant kiss the rod." 

'Tis thus we try to pray. 
But, when we know that, somewhere near, 

Our husbands, — brave, not free, — 
Are being slain, we can but fear. 

And cry, "Why must this be?" 

Oh, Thou, who hearest the raven^s cry. 

Who knowest all our need. 
Is it Thy will that they should die 

For others' lust and greed? 
As Thou didst still the waters wild. 

Make Thou this tumult cease, 
Through blood of Him, "the undefiled," 

Bring universal peace. 



[24 



^^ 



SMILE! 

Smile ! 

Every road, though it be thorny, 

Has a rose along the way ; 
Every day, though it be lonely, 

Has of sunshine just a ray. 

Smile! 

Sunshine peeps from out the shadow, 

Success oftimes crowns our strife, 
And life's worth living, if it only 
Comes but near our dream of life. 



25] 





:^KJ 



/ill 



PARTED 

Once more I'm in my childhood's home, 

With childhood's friends around me; 
Familiar are the sights and scenes 

That greet me and surround me. 
Back roll the years, again I live 

The day when first I met you, 
And well I know, till time shall cease, 

I never can forget you. 

Though we must part, and bravely try 

To live the years before us. 
The shadow of the past will lie, 

A gloomy curtain, o'er us. 
And all the years ahead will seem 

Of love bereft, forsaken, 
And all the years behind, a dream 

From which we'll never waken. 

Perhaps, in years to come, we'll crave 

The gifts that Fate now proffers. 
Perhaps we'll take, with hearts that ache, 

Still lesser ones she offers. 
Perhaps, perhaps, oh, let us hope! 

We'll pierce this veil of sorrow. 
To find — the grief we know today 

Bears fruit of joy tomorrow. 



[26 




FRUITION 



\) 



All the ships which are out on the ocean so blue 

May or may not make port. 
But 'twill not be the fault of the captain or crew ,, 

If they are the elements' sport ; /i 1 

For, steady and sturdy, ready and true, 

They stand by the rudder or helm, ^ 

Their task to perform, their duty to do. 

That disaster may not overwhelm. 

All our hopes which are out on the ocean of life 

May or may not bear seed. 
But 'twill not be our fault, if, in battle and strife, , , 

They are choked by thistle and weed, \\ \\ 

If, always and ever, breasting the storm, ' 

We stand by conviction and creed. 
Though others may censure, our duty perform. 

We will win to some port in our need. 



27] 



^ 




THE OREGON GRAPE* 

"This little sprig of it, so trim and so trig of it, 
Makes the heart of me hunger for home." 

I sing you a song of the Oregon Grape. 

Its leaves, so bright, glossy, and strong, 
Stand for the faith we have in our state. 

And her power to triumph o'er wrong. 
Its blossoms of gold, so fair to behold, 

Betoken our resources grand. 
And we love every sepal, every stamen and 
petal. 

On this dear native shrub of our land. 




I sing you a song of the Oregon Grape. 

The thorns that its glossy leaves wear 
Stand for the pride that we have in our state, 

And caution our foes to beware. 
Its berries of blue, ashine with the dew. 

Betoken our industries great. 
And we love every part of it, from the root to 
the heart of it, 

This dear native shrub of our state. 

*The Oregon Grape is the state flower of Oregon 



ii^ 



^. 



^j^-^^ 



[28 




'^^■ 



MY FRIEND 

She is but small, — my friend — 
And slender as a lithesome reed. 
But her thoughts are tall, and lend 
Strength in your hour of need. 

She plays on heartstrings long since dumb, 

And bids ideals, thought dead, to come / , / 

Forth from their hiding place, and send >• '^ 

Back to oblivion the slothful word and deed. ' 

She does not dream, — this one, 

Whom God hath given me to know — ^^ ■, j 

How life would seem, how dun ^^ / / 

The path that I must go. 

If she no more should light the way. 
And bring from dark the dawn of day, \v^^ 

Make strong my feet the race to run, \* ,. 

And kindly heart and helpful hand on me i A i 

bestow. 



wi 



29] 




■dO-s 



J 



LIFE'S ROSE CYCLE 

They brought my mother a rose the mom — 

She oft has told me so — 
Of the sunny day when I was bom, 

In that summer long ago. 
The rose was dainty, pure, and white, 

The sweetest flower that blows. 
And, because her heart with joy was light, 

My mother named me Rose. 

They placed a rose within my hand. 

And bade me look serene. 
And proudly in the limelight stand, 

The day they crowned me queen. 
It was the marvelous Portland rose, 

With its wondrous shell-pink hue, 
And, in that self-same town, there grows 

A similar one for you. 




[30 



Then, on the day a maiden deems 

The sweetest of her life, 
When earth to her a heaven seems, 

And naught but joy is rife, 
HE brought me yet another rose, 

A rose of crimson red ; 
"Its glorious heart with passion glows, 

As mine for you," he said. 

Today, they bring a rose to me, 
A rose whose whiteness charms. 

Then, turn the covers back to see 
The babe within MY arms. 



H \ 



wl 



31] 




MY LITTLE OLD HOME ON THE 
ISLAND 

I wish I could tell all the love that I felt, 
For my little old home on "The Island.'* 

It stood up on stilts, no basement we built, 
For there wasn't enough of the highland. 

The June waters rush, with a gurgle and gush, 
Through, under the floor, round the piling. 

And, patient, we wait for the sun to abate, 
And cease melting the snow with its smiling. 

The little home stood at the edge of the wood, 
And I wish I were to it returning ! 

'Twas there, in my youth, that I met dainty 
Ruth, 
And for her my heart is still yearning. 

Her eyes were as blue, as tender and true, 
As the heaven above us now beaming. 
And the curls of her head, neither golden nor 
red. 
Framed a face that with mischief was 
teeming. 



[32 




She passed "over the way," one sweet, sunny 
day. 

And the years have been long since her going. 
Yet, oft, in my dreams, her dear face still seems 

To smile at me, tenderly glowing. 

And, always, at night, when my pipe is alight, 
And I'm sitting alone in the highland, 

I long for my Ruth, and the days of my youth, 
And the little old home on the Island. 

Oh ! welcome the day when down I shall lay 
My burden of longing and sorrow, 

To meet with her there, where shadow and care 
Shall dim not our happy tomorrow. 



33] 



// 



Ut 






COULD LIFE'S NIGHT AND 
MORNING MEET 

Did you ever pause to wonder, 

Traveling down Life's rocky road, 
Seeing good men greet with hauteur 

Those who bend beneath a load, 
Tinged, perhaps, with shame or sorrow, 

Bleak remorse or vain regret. 
The result of youthful foUy, 

Which the world will not forget ; 
Hearing others condemn wholly 

One who's stumbled just a mite, 
From the path that THEY consider 

Constitutes the path of right ; 
Did you ever pause to wonder 

What our words and acts would be, 
Could we pierce the future's curtain, 

And, behind it, clearly see 
God's own plan for all the ages. 

Modeled at the mercy seat? 
Would we judge the world less harshly. 

Could Life's night and morning meet? 



[34 



Could we see our night's fulfiUment, 

Of our morning's dream so fair, 
See its joys and see its sorrows, 

All its pleasure and its care ; 
See the tears we'd shed in secret 

O'er the sad mistakes we'd made ; 
See the zigzag turns and windings 

Of the game that we had played; 
Could we see our morning's fancies 

Side by side with their defeat; 
See the blossoms, sadly blighted. 

Of youth's hopes, so pure and sweet; 
Would we not, in love and mercy. 

Tenderly our neighbor greet. 
Gloss his faults, and hide his failures. 

Help him once more to his feet? 

God, in mercy, let us think, then. 
It v/ere comfort wondrous sweet ! 

We would judge the world less harshly. 
Could Life's night and morning meet. 



35] -^>^, 



;^^^ 




SOME LIVE WIRE! 

Knew a boy once, 

He was in my class when I was going to 

school, 
He wasn't very brilliant, and he wasn't any 

fool. 
Nine times out of ten, he'd get his problems 
wrong. 
But the tenth time, he got 'em right. 
He wa'n't never discouraged, but plodded 
right along, 
Always put up a dandy fight. 
We kinder laughed at him. Called him 

"Plodding Turk," 
He didn't seem to care a bit, but kept right 

on at work. 
And I'll be darned, while we've stood still, 

He's kept on going higher. 
Till now, we doff our hats to him. 
By gosh! 

He's some live wire! 




[36 



v^ y-^6i 



Knew a girl once, 

She wasn't very pretty, like maybe you've 

known some, 
She wasn't very witty, and she wasn't very 

dumb. 
Nine times out of ten, she'd never a word 
to say, 
But the tenth time, she said it right. 
She wa'n't very assertive, that never was her 
way. 
Just listened well, and thought a mite. 
We kinder smiled at her. Called her, "Just 

old Nell," 
She didn't seem to mind a bit, not so's we 

could tell. 
But the other day a book came out. 

Filled with wondrous fire, 
And now, we bend the knee to her. 
Our Nell! 

She's some live wire ! 



, / 



rA 



~¥ 



W 



37] 



VnT^ 



3}i 




A CHILD AND A ROSE 

Who, that hath glimpsed to the soul of a child, 

Could ever deny God again? 
Who, that hath gazed on the heart of a rose, 
Could ever His wisdom profane? 
For the soul of a child, 
And the heart of a rose, 
In wonder and beauty. 
In splendor and glory. 
Conceal depths that no human can grasp. 



Who, that hath glimpsed to the soul of a child, 

Could ever speak crossly again? 
Who, that hath gazed on the heart of a rose, 
Could talk of God's wonders as vain? 
For the soul of a child. 
And the heart of a rose, 
In solace and comfort. 
In rapture and wisdom. 
Reveal heights to make mortal mind gasp. 



-^S>^ 



C38 



39] 




THE ROSE BRIGADE 

[Apologies to Tennyson] 



r 



Roses to right of them, 

Roses to left of them, 

Roses in front of them, | /^ 

Blossomed and flowered; 
Roses of every hue, 
Gladly they bloomed and grew, 
Welcome the sight of them, 
Children of sun and dew. 

With radiance dowered. 

When can their glory fade? 

All the bright bloom they made? U^ 

When mem'ry 's over ; I ^ 

Then, when our eyelids close, 
Place in our hands the rose, 

Rose and its lover. 



!\ 



e 



AT FIFTY 

I met a woman on the way, 

Her sm.ile was sweet, her hair was gray, 

Her dress was fine and nifty. 
Her face breathed forth such rare content, 
I asked her what such radiance meant. 

She said, *'Sir, I am fifty." 

I knew somewhat the life of care, 

That dimmed her eye, and grayed her hair, 

I knew that she was thrifty. 
I thought of battles bravely won. 
Of work from dawn till set of sun, 

From twenty up to fifty. 

And then I thought of daughter fair. 
And of the love they both would share. 

Till daughter, too, was fifty. 
I thought me of her stalwart son. 
Whose work in life was well begun. 

And wished that I were fifty. 

If we could, like this woman dear. 

With radiance crowned, give all good cheer, 

The years when we were fifty, 
If we could see, through good work done. 
Our lives prolonged in maid and son, 

Dear God, we'd all be fifty. 




[40 



LET US GIVE THANKS 

"Let us give thanks," the old man said, 
"Give thanks to Him for daily bread ; 
Gives thanks that those we hold most dear 
Are still perm.itted to be here. 
To sit with us around our board, 
And join in praises to our Lord. 

Give thanks that we are not at war, 

As, o'er the seas, the nations are. 

That we are not in daily fear 

Of news something like this to hear, 

'It is our painful duty to 

Write from the front and say to you. 

Your son John like a hero fell 

Today, 'midst rain of shot and shell. 

Your grief and anguish we, too, share. 

Such men as he we ill can spare.' 

Let us give thanks that we are still 

At peace, and pray the Father's will 

May be that our great, glorious land 

Shall give a friendly, helping hand 

To those distressed, across the sea. 

In sorrow bowed ; and may it be 

That, ere Thanksgiving comes once more 

They shall be freed from cruel war." 

November 23, 1915 

41] ^' 




THE NEWSBOYS' CHRISTMAS EVE 




*T\vas the night before Christmas my story 

befell, 
And two newsboys were trying their papers to 

sell. 
In the City of Portland, they stood in the street, 
In front of a playhouse, each eager to greet 
The crowd that would saunter forth from the 

door. 
When the curtain was lowered, the acting was 

o*er. 



And while they were waiting, 'twas natural 

they 
Should fall to relating their views of the day. 
Floating out on the breezes, they heard children 

sing, 
"To Jesus give praises, for He is our King." 
The younger insisted that this story was true, 
And most stoutly resisted the older lad's view. 

So earnest and honest, and so eager was he. 
So convincing his tale, that poor Mike needs 

agree 
With a half-hearted "Maybe. I'm no knocker. 

See! 



^.) 



'^^ 



[42 



<^ 



But you're just a baby alongside of me. 

You say He loves newsboys. I'd believe that 

some more, 
If He'd send me a dollar. I'm needing it sore, 
To give to my mother to pay for the rent. 
'Tis due on the morrer, and she hasn't a cent." 

Just then the doors opened, and the patrons 

came out. 
"Oregonian for Christmas," the urchins now 

shout. 
A couple stopped near them, and the lady 

smiled. "Dear, 
Let us give them a little to make Christmas 

cheer." 
His hand went to his pocket and, looking right 

glad. 
He brought forth two big dollars, a coin for 

each lad. 
Then, with fervent "God bless you," they 

passed on their way. 
Whereas I lingered after, and heard Mickie say, 
"I guess you are right. Bud, and your Jesus is 

King, 
And I'll bet you that lady's his angel, sure 

thing!" 



43] 



4^ 



f 



i.^^^r^'^^-^ 




And, you, kindly strangers, as you go on 

through life, 
Know you opened a channel that with promise 

is rife. 
That you kindled a faith which may grow with 

the years, 
And gave joy to a heart that knows more of 

life's tears. 
Bread cast upon waters to return has been 

known. 
And a love gift is oftimes the best kind of a 

loan. 
When Christ these words uttered, they were 

spoken for you, 
"What ye do to my children, unto Me, too, 

ye do." 



o 

Jo SJ, 



[44 



Oh, great Omniscience ! Who dost behold 
Thy children'st every need ; 
We entreat Thee, hear our prayer! 
We dare not claim to know the right, 
Nor question Thee in all Thy might; 
We wist but that, in Thine own way, 
Till through the dark shall dawn the day. 
Thy strength shall us sustain. Thy hands 

uphold, 
And daily stronger grow our faith that Thou 

art God indeed. 




DEAR LORD, TEACH US! 

Oh, great Omnipotence ! Thou who dost know 
Thy children's every woe; 
We beseech Thee, hear our prayer ! 
We do not beg that there be peace, (\ 

Nor yet demand that war shall cease ; ^ ' 

We crave but that, through all this din, 
Death, anguish, hate, war, rancor, sin, ,, , 

Thy love shall penetrate, and to us show ^j / 

That still we are the objects of Thy never- "* ^ 
ceasing care. ' 



kjj 



45] 










^v.^ 



WOMAN'S PLAINT 



To visit lands across the seas, 
To see the Alps and Pyrenees, 
To know Paris and hear its din. 
My heart's desire has always been. 

To cross the ocean wide and blue. 
And Monte Carlo visit, too ; 
The peasants know in country home; 
In fact, abroad I'd love to roam. 

Instead, at home, I calmly sit, 
Do housework, plan, tend babes, and knit 
Make all the clothes for youngsters five. 
And keep my husband's love alive. 

While my mind is in fair Italy, 
And heart and brain are o'er the sea, 
I scrub the floors, make beds, and sweep, 
Mend hubby's socks, put babe asleep. 

Sometimes, at night, I steal away. 
And travels read; then dream by day 
That I am in some foreign clime, 
With heaps of gold and scads of time. 

Perhaps, some day, when I am gray, 
And age has ta'en desire away. 
The chance may come, — ah, cruel fate! — 
To grant my prayer when 'tis too late. 



[46 



HER NEIGHBOR 

I've seen the mountains and the trees, 

I've seen the valleys and the seas, 

Castles and shrines of every style. 

The pyramids, the River Nile; / 

I've braved Sahara's desert glow, y 

I've dwelt in Russia's arctic snow; 
Have climbed the Alps, the Jungfrau, too, 
Lived 'neath Italia's storied blue ; 

V 

I've met the Scotsman on his heather, 
Dared London's fog, — atrocious weather, — 
Have toured Glengary, Dublin, Cork, 
Spent seasons, too, in old New York ; 

But not one spot that is my own 
Have I, to give the name of home. 
No dainty girl or sturdy boy. 
To fill my lonely heart with joy. 

Oh, God ! take all the wealth I have, 
It is not gold or fame I crave ; 
Just grant to me the one great good, — 
The joys and cares of motherhood. 



u 



\ 



47] 



t^' 




(^^ 



THE PIE I DIDN'T GET 

Once, when I was young and verdant, 

At a wedding in our town, 
Pie was passed me at the dinner ; 

Bashfully I turned it down. 
When, too late, I tried to get some, 

Tried, alas, oh, vain regret ! 
Every piece had then been taken 

Of that pie I didn't get. 

Pies I've had that were delicious. 
Many pies I've had, you bet. 

But the pie that most I've longed for 
Is that pie I didn't get. 

Boys, list to a word of caution. 

On that path you all must tread. 
Any chance you see before you. 

Grab it ; nail it on the head. 
As you travel down life's highway. 

Leave no room for vain regret ; 
Stub your toe, but come up smiling, 

Have no pie you didn't get. 



[4i 



Other men have missed their chances, 

Spent their lives in sighing since, 
Longing for the pie that's passed them 

Apple, pumpkin, squash, or mince. 
Fate, 'tis said, makes but one offer, 

Knocks no more when sun has set ; 
Take, oh, take, when she doth proffer. 

Or, 'tis pie you didn't get. 




\L, 



f 



49] 





THE FRUITS OF WAR 



As^. 



The cottage is lowly, is gloomy and dim, 
And gloomy and awful the struggle within. 
For here, in her anguish, a war-widowed wife 
Is struggling to bring a new soul into life. 
And never she knows, as Death closes her eyes, 
That her child cries but once before it, too, dies. 

Her soldier in carnage is thinking of home. 
And wondering, in pity, if her hour has yet 

come ; 
Hoping, and praying to the God they both love 
That strength may be given to her from above. 
With his mind on the far-away home over 

there. 
Relaxes a moment his usual care. 
Forgets that the bullets are pouring like rain. 
Stops one in its progress, and — endeth his pain. 

Oh, wife in the cottage, dead babe on your 

arm! 
Thank God you are safe now from hunger and 

harm ; 
Oh, man in the battle who gave up your life. 
While dreaming of bairnie and praying for 

wife! 
Though all that is mortal is severed fore'er, 
Let's trust that your souls are together, — 

somewhere. 




^«^. 



[50 




"^ 



'Tis like watching a plant you are hoping will 

flower, 
That by lightning is struck in its blossoming 

hour. 
The plant is uprooted as its bud becomes 

bloom, 
The gardener, also, is sent to his tomb. 
Where once was all brightness, all beauty and 

joy. 

Is now but the elements' discarded toy. 

Of all that was promised, naught is left but a 

pall, 
And, blindly, we grope for the WHY of it all. 



^ 



^\V 



51] 







?^.=^^;?c:.H^ 



Hr 



NIGHT AND MORN 





I gazed from my room, last evening, 
At a rosebush, brown and bare. 

And I thought — O, weary teacher. 
Your work's represented there. 

The day had been long and dreary, 
A lesson, carefully planned. 

Had failed to convey my meaning, 
And some could not understand. 

The quick ones had grasped it surely. 
But the duller ones, for whom 

I had thought and planned it wholly. 
Had minds still shrouded in gloom. 

And I was both cross and weary. 

Almost I could have wept. 
But I turned my head on the pillow, 

Instead of the tears — I slept. 

I looked at the bush this morning, 
At a beautiful, crimson flower. 

Whose bud of unfolding beauty 
I'd missed in that gloomy hour. 



[52 



For awhile I gazed upon it, 
As it sparkled with the dew ; 

And I thought — perhaps, O, doubter, 
You builded more than you knew. 

Then Hope, God's blessed love token, 
Sprang up again in my breast. 

Once more, I planned and studied, 
And — teachers, you know the rest. 



Dl 






53] 




NOW USE IT 

["The government has given you this canal to use; 
now use it." — Words spoken by Senator Jones, at the 
opening of the Celilo Canal.] 

This canal was given you, 
By the government to do 
The work it is intended to. 

Now, then, use it. 
Or, if in years that lie before. 
You should ask for something more, 
Uncle Sam will look this o'er, 

And — refuse it. 

Thus it is with every man. 
If he do the best he can. 
More is given on demand. 

Should he need it. 
But, if he let his talents lie, 
If 'tis never, "Do or Die," 
For "a chance" he'll vainly cry. 

Fate's decreed it. 

"Unto him that hath is given." 
Only he who shrives is shriven. 
Always he who drives is driven. 

None excepted. 
But reward at last is handed. 
Unto him whose fish is landed, 
Aught for naught is ne'er demanded, 

Nor expected. 

[54 



l^ 



When, at last, you tell your story 
Unto Him, the "king of glory," 
Though the tale be sweet and flowery, 

He'll detect it 
If it shows no hard race run. 
Over self no battle won, 
Not for you the praise, "Well done," 

He'll reject it. 




If to you is made some gift. 
Give another soul a lift. 
All is value, naught is drift. 

Don't abuse it. 
Work, for work is our salvation, 
Work enriches all creation. 
Strength is ours but on probation, 

Oh, then, use it ! 



/( 



55] 






THE VIEWPOINT 

[In the skirmish before L , the company was called 

upon to mourn the loss of its gallant young captain, the 
son of General Sir John, etc., etc. The other casualties 
were hardly worth mentioning, just two soldiers wound- 
ed, I believe, and one killed.] 

Hardly worth telling, the paper has said, 
Just two soldiers wounded, and one soldier 

dead. 
Yet the young private soldier, — they omitted 

his name, — 
Met his fate just as bravely; the bullet that 

came 
Speeding to greet him, and bring him his death, 
Was faced just as fairly : he gave his last breath 
With just as much courage as his leader could 

do, 
Though he was a private whom nobody knew. 
And, oh ! in my heart, his mem'ry's more dear. 
Though I be the only one to give him a tear. 
Give fame to the captain for what he has done, 
But the poor private soldier, — HE was MY son. 




[56 




\ 



THAT'S THE WAY I LONG FOR YOU 

Have you ever stood in a crowd, my friend, 

And longed for one face alone, 
A face that, back in the bygone days, 

Belonged to one you'd known, 
Whose friendship was like the stars above, 

Constant and fixed and true, \j^ 

Whose handclasp held a warmth of love? 

That's the way I long for you. 



i 



Have you ever sat through a lonely night. 

That seemingly had no end, 
And, through all the pain and darkness and ^lil 

woe, 

Longed for a one time friend. 
Whose very smile was like a caress, 

Honest and fearless and true. 
And whose presence would make the shadow 
less? 

That's the way I long for you. 



57] 






IN THE GLOAMING 

I'm sitting alone in the gloaming, and backward 
my fancy is roaming, 
To "The things that might have been better, 
had they but happened thus." 
O'er the little sins I am fretting, and the big 
mistakes I'm regretting, 
The little sins and the big mistakes that 
haunt us, the best of us. 



And sadly my poor heart is yearning for the 
days that know no returning. 
Wishing I had my chance over with the 
knowledge I have tonight. 
But, still, in the midst of my grieving, there's 
a strain in me that's believing 
Mistakes that are made in DOING are things 
that count for the right. 




[58 



■.-V, (Ty- 



And, so, though the heart may be crying, it's 
up to us to keep trying 
To fight through the mists to sunshine, the 
stronger because of the past. 
And, oh, when our last sun is setting, pray God 
we shall all be forgetting 
Earth and its failures forever, to know we 
have conquered at last ! 



59] 



H 



That it is not so much the sinning, and it is not 
so much the winning, 
That marks up at last our record; it's the ,,, 

striving our best to do ; \ j 

It's the making a fresh beginning; it's the 
struggling for one more inning ; 
It's the helping some other poor beggar j 

who's hoeing a hard row, too. ■ ) 



^-.v;/ 



^' 



v^viivancoo 



IllliPiiiiillilil 
015 937 039 2 



